


A Violent Virtue

by SilverBird13



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fearousal, M/M, Mild Boot Kink, Sorry about the repost, Valjean's guilty boner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:10:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBird13/pseuds/SilverBird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If Javert could see past the gentle manners and feigned authority of Madeleine, look directly through suspicious muscle into the thrumming heart of his bluffing prey, would he command Valjean to kneel, to kiss them and laugh as he begged for the mercy he supplied so readily to others?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Violent Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted after the formatting kept switching from RTF to HTML.

Madeleine had awoken to the portress’s knock, but only the thrill and terror of the month’s second Thursday had jolted him out of bed and onto his knees. His mind was sharp and his grip rough around his rosary as he expelled a fervent prayer that Javert should remain blind to all but the details of his report. As the image of the man rose to Madeleine’s mind, his knuckles whitened around the beads and he prayed that he might share in such blindness as well. 

Madeleine’s prayer continued informally as he made his way through the morning mist to his factory and settled comfortably around him as he lay in wait at his desk, his hands clasped in his lap steady even as his secretary announced Javert’s arrival and the looming figure of his psyche approached with a bow that seemed to mock the mayor’s hidden panic.

“Monsieur le Maire, I hope you are in good health. Are you prepared to receive my report?”

“Yes Javert, I hope you are as well. Please, begin.”

Neither man initiated niceties beyond such hollow words, and as Javert told of property disputes and stray dogs, Madeleine’s eyes wandered against his own volition down the pleasing shape Javert’s coat carved from the man’s lean figure, lingering for only a moment upon a thigh exposed by Javert’s proud stance. Instead, his eyes settled upon the curve of the polished boot, clean and bright despite the soft morning rain drumming on the cobblestones. If Javert could see past the gentle manners and feigned authority of Madeleine, look directly through suspicious muscle into the thrumming heart of his bluffing prey, would he command Valjean to kneel, to kiss them and laugh as he begged for the mercy he supplied so readily to others? Madeleine shuddered as he felt his disobedient body respond to the image his mind had supplied.

If Javert noticed the shiver, he was far too skilled to show it beyond a momentary raise of his eyebrows as he continued his report. Madeleine forced himself to train his gaze onto Javert’s eyes, looking directly into the blank grey to remind himself of the very image of his fear. Were the moment of his imaginings to spring forth, he knew that Javert’s eyes would sharpen in offense, harden in duty, and yet remain as impassive in throwing Valjean into a cell as they were in reporting to Madeleine. 

Or would some proxy of Javert accept his pleas for mercy, let Madeleine huddle at his feet and weep before dragging him up and forcibly stripping him, laying Valjean bare upon his former desk to be used for the pleasure of his superior? Would Javert, instead of making reports, arrive monthly to make Valjean pay for his transgression in moans and cries and heat? Madeleine knew that such thoughts were fanciful after hearing his mendicant’s complaints about the man, but his mind could not cease its disturbed wanderings and so he quickly crossed his legs in defense against his flesh, managing a momentary smile as Javert concluded his report with all the conviction in his duty present that seemed to be escaping Madeleine with every breath taken in the man’s presence.

“Good day, Monsieur”, Javert says dispassionately as he bows again, the tapping of his walking stick echoing in Madeleine’s bones as he leaves without a backward glance. He listens until the sound mixes with the clatter on the streets outside before he locks the door with shaking hands.

Madeleine is unable to stop himself from falling to his knees upon the floor, sobbing silently as his prick throbs and his chest pounds desperately with fear.


End file.
